


Officer Down!

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On and on the rain will say, how fragile we are.  Do we also know how strong we can be?  A friend's death impels Jim to make a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Officer Down!

## Officer Down!

by Jantique

Pet Fly having abandoned them, Jim and Blair, like Lincoln, now belong to the ages.   


Send praise, criticism and above all, feedback to the author at Jantique1020@hotmail.com   


Part 2 of the "Love While We're Here" series. However, it stands on its own.   
R for Language and Violence. Offstage death of original character is described.   
The song "Fragile" is by Sting.   
This story was first written in 1999, which was the 30th anniversary of Stonewall. Dates work out for that.   


This story is a sequel to: Love While We're Here 

* * *

**OFFICER DOWN**  
by Jantique 

This is for Matthew Shepard. 

On and on the rain will fall, like tears from a star. 

On and on the rain will say, how fragile we are. 

Sunday mornings in bed with Blair--one of Jim Ellison's favorite times of the week. Actually, being in bed with Blair _any_ time was good, but on Sunday they had _time_ \--time to make love leisurely, time to talk, to snuggle, have breakfast in bed. (He had relaxed the rules--hell, thrown them out the window--when Blair had pragmatically pointed out that they got so many stains on the sheets anyway, a little orange juice or cream cheese wasn't going to make that much difference.) It was May 23rd, cloudy, with a forecast of possible rain in the afternoon, but they had the day off and they were together, and that was all that mattered. 

Now they were sitting in bed, breakfast dishes on the floor, with the Sunday paper spread out across the bed. Blair looked up from the Book Review. "Umm, Jim?" 

"Hmm?" 

"It's almost June, you know?" 

"Yeah. So? You want to go to the park and play catch, if it doesn't rain?" 

"Well, yeah, sure. But I mean. . . ." 

Ellison waited. Blair would tell him in his own time. He looked at his Guide and smiled. Blair was frowning, worrying his lip, trying to find the right words. Intelligent, beautiful, funny, sexy as hell. Jim swallowed hard. How had he gotten so lucky? He tried to make it easy for his lover. His Guide had to know that wherever he led, the Sentinel would follow. 

"Chief, whatever you say, I'm there." 

Blair looked up at him and smiled, a little sadly, then reached up and captured Jim's jaw, pulling him down for a hard, long kiss. Tongues battled, but it was no contest. Jim instantly surrendered, letting Blair seek out all the corners of his mouth, probing down his throat. He belonged to Sandburg, and this was the way it should be, this was heaven. But Blair pulled back, catching his breath, sighed and shook his head. 

"No, this is an out-of-bed thing. This is something _I_ want to do. What it is, is, all the Gay Pride marches are in June." He felt Jim tense beside him, and added hastily, "And I know we can't go here in Cascade, I wouldn't endanger you that way, but I want to go to San Francisco. Just to see it. It's gonna be like, the 30th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, and, and, I think it'd be worth seeing." He added in a rush, "But you don't have to go; I'm not trying to put you on the spot." 

Jim thought about it. He didn't think of himself as "gay", though he'd had male partners before, as well as women, and he hoped to stay with Blair for the rest of his life. And they were both men, and he wouldn't change that if he could. But to come out as a gay cop meant more than just risking harassment and name-calling. It meant going down a dark alley and not knowing if his backup would be there, if some good All-American _normal_ cop wouldn't think twice, wouldn't hesitate just ten extra seconds, before risking his own life for a _fag_ , a _cocksucker_ , a _pervert_. He knew he was a good cop. He kept his personal and professional lives separate. And he'd never forgive himself if he put Blair in danger. Nothing was worth that. They'd discussed it, the morning after they first made love, and had been in complete agreement that they didn't need to change the rest of the world, all they needed was each other, and to keep each other safe. Now Blair wanted to go to San Francisco, where no one they knew would see them, and watch the march, which thousands of people would be doing. Safety in numbers. Fair enough. Just because he didn't have the balls to come out himself didn't mean he couldn't applaud the courage of the men and women who did. 

He nodded. "Okay, Chief. When do we leave?" 

Blair cocked his head and looked at him warily. "You sure, babe? 'Cause you don't have to." 

"Yeah, I'm sure. We can stand on the sidewalk and cheer everyone as they go by. Listen, let's make a weekend of it, okay?" 

Blair beamed. "Cool." Jim loved that smile. He gathered his Guide into his arms, scattering newspapers, nuzzling his hair as Blair sucked on his neck. Heaven! How could anyone possibly think that this was _wrong_?! 

If blood will flow where flesh and steel are one 

Drying in the colours of the evening sun, 

Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away 

But something in our minds will always stay. 

" Officer Down!" The two words that made every cop's blood run cold. At approximately 11:50 Sunday night, Detective Wills was shot in a drug bust gone bad, in a dark cul-de-sac. He was shot in the head at close range by a .38. After he was shot, his pants were pulled down and the gun barrel rammed up his anus and fired again. The coroner was almost certain that the head wound had come first. The unknown perpetrators escaped. His partner, Det. Bauer, later swore that he'd gone to have a word with their backups, who weren't in position yet. Wills had jumped the signal, and gone into the cul-de-sac on his own. The backup cops agreed. It was a tragedy, but then Wills was like that, a lone wolf, not a team player. Downtown, Major Crimes didn't hear about it until the next day. 

In the bullpen, Blair asked Jim, "Did you know him, Wills?" 

"Mmm. I've met Fingal; I know who he was. But I didn't know him well; we weren't friends or anything." He didn't mention that he'd occasionally seen Wills in the gay clubs. Not in the bullpen, he wouldn't mention that. "I know he was usually cautious. But then Reading is a tough district; a lot of crap goes down there. You never know." 

Homicide took over the investigation, the precinct cops swore to avenge their fallen brother, and Internal Affairs made sure everyone was telling the same story. Major Crimes stayed well out of it. Of course, everyone went to the funeral. 

There were lots of cops, a few civilians. One weeping young woman with dark hair who looked a little like Wills. Sister? A blond man who caught Jim's eye and looked hard at him for a moment, then turned away. Ellison had seen him somewhere before, but couldn't place him right away. Wills's father was alive, according to the records, but he didn't come to the funeral or graveside. 

After the burial service, Jim and Blair were about to get into the truck, when Jim saw the blond man coming over to them. He remembered now--he'd seen him with Wills at the clubs, and once together in a restaurant, but didn't know his name. 

The man was handsome, but his hair was lank, his eyes were red and his eyes were sunken with misery. He put out his hand. It was trembling slightly. 

"Detective? I'm Al Douglas. We've seen each other around."--with that certain emphasis that let you confirm or deny it, depending on who was listening. 

Jim surreptitiously checked, but no one else was within earshot. He shook Douglas's hand. "I'm Jim Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We're sorry for your loss." 

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. You have our deepest sympathy." 

Douglas looked at Sandburg. "Are you on the force?" He needed to know what "partner" meant, in this context. 

Blair looked at Jim, who thought for a moment, then gave a flicker of his eyelids, 'It's okay'. Blair couldn't help smiling, just a little, shook his head and said, "No, I'm an anthropologist," moving a step closer to his lover. 

Douglas nodded, reassured. "Detective, can I talk to you somewhere privately? I mean, not private from you" (to Blair), "but away from _them_." He indicated the police contingent dispersing on the hillside. 

"Sure, any time. We live at 852 Prospect, do you know where that is? Or, I could come to your place." 

"No, I'd rather get out of the house. Is tonight all right?" 

Blair chimed in, "Sure, man, any time. Anything we can do for you." 

Douglas shook his head. "Not for me, for Fin." His voice strengthened. "For Fin." Then he closed his lips sharply, as if afraid to let too much escape, and went back to his own car. 

Around eight o'clock, Douglas came over to the loft. Blair and Jim expressed their condolences once again, and got him settled with a cup of coffee. Blair had been in a quiet panic all afternoon. He could not _imagine_ losing Jim. But it could happen to any cop, no matter how careful you were. His heart really did bleed for Al. Any help they could offer, he was determined to give. And, guiltily, thank all the deities that _it wasn't Jim_. 

Douglas sipped his coffee, looked around the loft, looked at Blair and Jim a lot. 'Deciding whether to trust us,' they both thought. Finally, he put down the cup. 

"Fin and I were lovers for four and half--almost five years. We lived together for three years, now. He wasn't "out"--but we went places together, people saw us. You know." 

Jim nodded. 

"Fin used to work out of Brookville. It was great there, nobody cared. I mean, he didn't throw it in anybody's face, but I came into the station a couple of times to pick him up, we left together, nobody _cared_. A little name-calling, that was the worst of it. The one time someone threatened him, the captain personally tore the guy a new one, wouldn't stand for any crap. It was great." He sighed and closed his eyes, lost in memories. 

"Then he transferred to Reading. It was a fucking _promotion_." Pain shook his voice. "At first it was okay. I mean, he has a good Irish name, Fingal O'Flahertie Wills, so he must be "a regular guy", right? Then the names started. I never even went in there, but they must have heard something from the guys at Brookville. Then other shit--his files dumped on the floor, important papers missing. Fin went to the captain--you know what he said? He said, really sarcastically, 'Hey, the boys are just getting to know you, it's like a little _initiation_ rite. Why don't you come down to the bar and have a few rounds with the guys, and bring your girlfriend? You're not married, so you must have a _girlfriend_ , right, Wills?' Then Fin started getting black marks on his record, 'Not a team player', 'bad work habits', 'doesn't follow orders', 'doesn't play nice with others'. That was the captain's contribution! 

"Fin didn't want to go to Internal Affairs. You do that and you're permanently screwed, a trouble-maker who can't get along with good cops. Especially when you have no one to back you up. A roomful of cops and nobody saw or heard anything." 

Douglas leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. 

"Al? You okay?" 

He nodded, gathering the remains of his strength. If these men didn't help him--help Fin. . . . He leaned forward intently. 

"Look, Fin was a good cop. But, but, he always said, 'I'm not going to be a hero. You cover your own ass, then you cover your partner, then you go after the bad guys.' He would _never_ have gone in there alone without backup! And what I want to know is, there was this little courtyard with bars on all the windows and only one way out. If there were three cops there, how did the perp escape? Unless they let him, unless they set Fin up to be murdered and let the hit man go?!" He buried his face in his hands, gulping air to control the racking sobs, trying to regain control. 

Blair was shocked. He looked at Jim. " _COPS_?!" Could cops do that to a fellow officer, no matter how homophobic they were? 

But Ellison nodded. "You hate to think it could be true. Cops are supposed to stick together, no matter what. But it could be. I hate to say this, but there are two ways it could have gone down. The way you said, in which case, the perp will wind up dead in a day or two, no motive, no evidence. Or . . ." he took a deep breath, "if they didn't want to go to that much trouble, maybe there isn't a perp at all." 

It hit Sandburg like a sledgehammer. He sat bolt upright. "You mean, the _cops_ did it? His partner--he'd have to have been in on it!" 

Fin looked up. "His partner's an asshole. I know he tried to get re-assigned, when Fin was transferred in. But . . . he never said or did anything directly, he didn't even talk to Fin. He just pretended he wasn't even there. Fin said it was kind of funny, really." He stifled a sob. "But--but--those guys will stick together. No matter what happened, they'll all tell the same story." 

"But Homicide won't," Ellison said. "Homicide works out of Downtown, not Reading. They have to be suspicious, too. There's nothing worse than a bad cop. One of them will roll over to save his own ass. Even their captain won't protect them if he thinks they're dirty." //I hope.// 

Al shook his head, blond hair swinging, unconvinced. "They might not cover up, but they won't ask questions. Why should they?" 

Peripherally, Jim could see his partner giving him the 'Jim, DO something!' look. Well, that was unnecessary. He fully intended to do something. 

"Look, Al, I'll go to Homicide and talk to whoever's in charge of the case. I'll make sure they understand all this. And I'll talk to I. A., too, and see if anyone else ever reported these guys." 

"Thanks. I--I appreciate that." Douglas gave a ghost of a half-smile. "Umm . . . you won't get in trouble?" 

"No, I won't get in trouble. A cop was killed and I intend to take down whoever did it. That's not trouble, that's my duty." He unclenched his jaw. "Besides, Major Crimes thought we were lovers for years even before we were, anyway. I'm lucky; I work with good people. The worst thing that could happen there is, someone could finally win the office pool." 

"The WHAT?" Sandburg yelped. 

Jim shot him a "Later, Chief!", and turned back to their guest. "Look, I can't promise you justice, the legal system being what it is. But I will find out the truth, I promise you that." 

"Thanks again. I believe you. Just--just do it for Fin." 

The next day, Ellison apprised Homicide of his concerns. Homicide was _very_ interested. The two detectives in charge of the case were both straight, married with children, but they were _cops_ , and Damn! if they were going to let the murder of a fellow officer go unsolved, especially if there were dirty cops involved. 

Internal Affairs was less helpful, running along the lines of, "Oh, sure, everyone hates those lousy I. A. bastards, except when you want something from us, so what can we do for you now, Detective?" Nonetheless, they did eventually, and after much sweet-talking and sucking-up-to, cough up the information that there had been various complaints of racism, sexism, homophobia and general nastinesses against several detectives and uniforms alike at Reading over the years. Minor discipline handed out, a few slaps on the wrist. Nothing major ever proven. A transfer-out rate one-third higher than the city average. But the captain had achieved a high arrest and conviction rate, and HQ was, ultimately, interested in results. 

Ellison checked out the crime scene himself, using his Sentinel senses, but found nothing. It was too little, too late, and if there had been any evidence, it was gone now, washed away in the spring rains. 

Perhaps this final act was meant 

To clinch a lifetime's argument 

That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could 

For those born beneath an angry star 

Lest we forget how fragile we are. 

Memorial Day was a barbecue at Simon's house. It being a holiday, and therefore a Special Occasion, Blair had no intention of eating the tofu dogs the Captain had thoughtfully provided, and stuffed himself like a pig. Playing football with Daryl after that probably was _not_ a good idea, as he found out the hard way. Jim spent a lot of time looking at his colleagues--his friends. Yes, Blair was welcome here. He'd proven himself, time and again. And Major Crimes didn't even gossip about the two of them any more--they were an accepted fact. Would "officially" being out be any different? He grinned. He knew he could count on _his_ partner! But the rest of the P. D.--the rest of the world--what about them? 

Simon came over, happy as a pig in--anyway, it was his own backyard and he could smoke his cigar. In deference to Jim's nostrils, he waved it in his other hand. "So!" he happily boomed. "Where are you going on vacation?" 

"Vacation?" Jim dragged himself back to the present. 

"Long weekend, last weekend in June, remember? I already _gave_ you the time!" 

Right, that was San Francisco Gay Pride. "Oh, we'll just drive up the coast, get away from it all for a while. Leave the cell phones behind and no forwarding address." 

"I hear you!" Simon grinned. "But seriously, Jim, where are you going?" 

Jim's mouth twitched. "Seriously, Captain," he motioned the big man in closer, and whispered, " _Away_ ". 

Simon sighed and straightened up. "Aw, you're no fun. And to think I let you drink all my beer." 

"Hey, I _brought_ that beer!" The conversation dissolved into good-natured banter. Would it be so terrible to tell Simon where they were going? He wouldn't tell anyone else, and if he did, so what? So--what? It been instinctive, a survival instinct maybe. When Jim was in the Army, or in Vice, he never told, and now he didn't, either. Now he had something--someone--worth protecting. A reason to protect himself. Wills hadn't protected himself properly, and look where it had gotten him. No, no, that was blaming the victim. No one had a right--but you had to look after your own. That was understood. He drank his beer, suddenly depressed. The sunlight had gone from the afternoon, and all he wanted to do was to go home with Blair and lock the door behind them. 

May rolled into June. The days were long and beautiful. The investigation was stalled. Homicide was pretty sure the cops were mixed up in it somehow, but that was gut instinct. They had no proof either way, and no one was rolling over. 

Jim went to see Al Douglas, assuring him that the investigation was ongoing, and they were _not_ going to let it die. He didn't know what else he could say. As a matter of policy, the Department _never_ closed the book on an unsolved cop killing. That didn't mean that anyone would ever pay for it. All the bastards had to do was to stand fast. Who would risk his own life to get justice for a dead queer? Ellison didn't say all that. He didn't have to. Douglas had lived in the United States of America for 34 years, 17 of them as a gay man, and he knew the score. He thanked Jim for his trouble. Ellison felt helpless. He didn't know what else he could say. But he knew what he could do. 

On and on the rain will fall, like tears from a star. 

On and on the rain will say, how fragile we are. 

How fragile we are, how fragile we are. 

Later that night, they were sitting on the couch, Blair working on his laptop, Jim ostensibly reading, in reality watching Blair work. Blair was adorable when he worked, hair falling forward, glasses sliding down his nose. Jim smiled. "Umm, babe?" Blair looked up. 

""Why did we make you an office?" He waved in the direction of Blair's old room. 

"Oh, yeah! But--I just like sitting here with you." 

The thousand-watt smile melted Jim's heart, the same way it always did. He grinned, "I'm not complaining. Oh, sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you." 

"No, I'm glad you did. I'm stuck here anyway." 

"Ah . . . Blair?" 

"Sandburg" was the station; "Chief" was bedroom. "Blair" meant it was important. "I'm listening." 

"When is Gay Pride Day here in Cascade? Is it the same day as San Francisco?" 

"No, it's earlier. I think it's the 19th. Why?" 

Jim looked into those beautiful deep blue eyes and knew he could do anything. "I think--I think I should go. I think I _need_ to go." 

"To watch it?" 

"No. To _be_ there." 

"Jim--" 

"I know. And it'll kill me if I put you in any danger. But . . . Blair, I'm not good with words, but this just feels right. Like it's something I need to do." 

Sandburg cocked his head and considered. "It's a big step, Babe. Does this have anything to do with Wills?" 

"Yeah, maybe. Don't ask me how, exactly, I don't know. But, yeah. If I can't nail the bastards who killed him, at least--I don't know. But it does. It's something I can _do_. And partly with not telling Simon that we're going to San Francisco, just automatically, don't ask, don't tell. I've lived my whole _life_ that way; it's second nature. But with you--and you've changed me, opened me up to life and love and--and with you, I don't want to be that way any more." He stopped, uncertain. "Does that make any sense?" 

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. It makes a lot of sense." He smiled that million-watt smile again. 

"So--it's okay with you if I do this? Because if it isn't, I won't. I wouldn't do anything--" 

Blair cut him off with a passionate kiss. When they could breathe again, he said, "Yeah, Jim, it's okay with me if _we_ do this." He looked into clear blue eyes. " _Together._ " 

_Together._ That had a nice ring to it. 

~~ to be continued ~~ 

(Continued in "Rite of Passage".) 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Bonus points to anyone who recognizes the names! (Oh, you didn't? Okay: Oscar FINGAL O'FLAHERTIE WILLS Wilde, Ballad of READING Gaol and, of course, ALfred DOUGLAS.) 

* * *

End Officer Down! by Jantique: Jantique1020@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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